belatedly that she hadn’t actually come up with anything to say to him. She simply felt the need to engage him in conversation.
He stared at her, waiting.
“Thank you,” she said finally.
His expression didn’t change. “You’re welcome.”
He started to turn away from her again and this time she came forward and rested her hand on his arm. The Doctor looked down at it, mild surprise flickering across his face.
“I know that this is difficult for you,” she said. “You helped create a virus that can erase Morgan Primus, and you’ve brought it to this vessel on a datachip. Until just now, I was unsure—as was Soleta—that you were truly dedicated to the idea. Now, though, faced with evidence that she is out of control and poses a threat to living beings, you’ve come to accept what needs to be done. And I think that is a laudable—”
“I don’t care about them.”
That stopped Seven. “Excuse me?”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s an overstatement. I’m a doctor. Of course I care about all living things. But hearing about what happened on New Thallon… that isn’t what prompted my wholehearted devotion to this endeavor. It’s that you are obviously determined to see this through, and it now appears that this individual, this Morgan, presents a real and true threat.”
“I… still don’t understand.”
“She presents a threat to you, Seven,” said the Doctor. “You are going to set yourself in harm’s way, and I cannot stand by and do nothing. Certainly I cannot consider allying myself with the entity that would potentially do you harm. I am going to attempt to destroy Morgan Primus in order to protect you. Do you understand now?”
When she replied, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes.”
“Good.” He paused and then said, “I had best check on the datachip to make certain that the virus remains contained and has lost none of its potency. Then I will give it to Soleta for safekeeping as we planned. I think that would be best, don’t you?”
She nodded.
The Doctor walked away, leaving her standing there in the corridor, at a loss for words.
U.S.S. Dauntless
Some Time Later
To say that there was no love lost between Commodore Joshua Kemper and Captain Mackenzie Calhoun would be to understate matters considerably.
The Dauntless was a newly commissioned Galaxy-class ship, replacing the vessel of the same name that had been destroyed during the Dominion War. She had been on routine patrol in Sector 7G when word first came through that Calhoun had apparently gone rogue and single-handedly committed an act of war against the Thallonians.
The first thing that occurred to Kemper was, It was only a matter of time.
The second thing that occurred to him was, And he’s all mine.
Kemper was an unusually tall man who walked with something of an inherent swagger and radiated confidence the way suns radiate light. People tended to get out of his way when they saw him coming, which suited him just fine. He studied his smile in the mirror every morning to make certain that it was exactly right and then made sure to keep it affixed on his face the entirety of the day. It required a certain type of mind-set to practice one’s smile, and Kemper had that mind-set in spades.
It wasn’t as if Kemper was happy about the deaths of the people on New Thallon. He felt as much mourning as one can for a planetary disaster for which he was not responsible, involving people he didn’t know. If anything, Kemper was more upset over the fact that a ship of the line had been responsible for the incident. Any negative action taken by a starship was a black eye for the entire fleet, and it was incumbent upon every officer to do what was required in order to rein in the offending vessel and bring the criminals involved to a swift justice. And he felt it to be his obligation—no, in fact, a duty bordering on sacred—to be the one who managed to accomplish the job.
The fact that it was Calhoun was simply a bonus.
Kemper strode down the corridor with a bit more spring in his step than was usual. The doors to the turbolift obediently opened for him and he said briskly, “Bridge.”
“Hold the lift, please!” came a female voice from behind him.
It was Theresa Detwiler, his conn officer. He stepped aside for her to enter and she did so. “Good morning, Lieutenant Commander,” he said briskly.
“Good morning, Commodore.”
The doors slid shut and the turbolift headed toward its